


When the Sand Runs Out

by cinnappo



Category: Super Junior
Genre: Length: Drabble, M/M, genre: angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnappo/pseuds/cinnappo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like Cinderella, the illusion fades when the clock strikes midnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Sand Runs Out

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the 100 Themes Challenge. Prompt 74: Midnight.

Every breath is like another knife in the gut, every shuddering gasp a trickle of sand in an overturned hourglass. Blood gurgles past his lips and it takes every ounce of focus not to choke on it. He feels tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, swirling with the caked mud and matted hair down his temples but he doesn't have the strength to make a sound, let alone cry out despite the agonizing pain. The smell of rotting leaves and bile stings his nostrils but he's powerless.

He wants to scream for help, but even if he could no one would hear him all the way out in the woods like this. He can't help but wonder if anyone's missing him right now, if what his assailants said was true despite his heart aching to deny it. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, he tells himself. He has to believe that.

If he tries hard enough, he can almost hear thunderous footsteps crashing through the forest, can hear the frantic screaming of his name over the thrumming of his slowing heartbeat in his ears. Is this what dying is like? Some kind of mercy shown to the boy who lay beaten and dying on the ground, tricking his imagination into feeling comforted by something that isn't there?

No, he thinks, he won't fall for that. No one is looking for him. He's going to die cold and alone, half-heartedly buried in leaves in the dead of night. It's a nice thought, though, he admits to himself. As a church bell tolls somewhere off in the distance, he thinks that his imagination is pretty good, that Kyuhyun's voice is very real and even very close, if only in his mind. A barely-there smile twitches at the corner of his lips and he shudders once more, twice more, then is gone.

" _Henry!_ Oh my God, no!"

But like Cinderella, the illusion fades when the clock strikes midnight.


End file.
